


On The Vigil

by Rubynye



Series: Works in StoatSandwich's 4F Universe (aka, the Adventures of Steve Rogers, Military Prostitute) [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Anal Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, i would appreciate suggestions, there is probably a term for the central kink of this story but i don't know it, various sexual activities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7960969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky and Steve after a long day's work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Vigil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrighteyedJill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/gifts).



In nineteen days, Bucky Barnes is going home. He lies on his actual civilian-style bed, under the dim ceiling of the actual apartment he's been quartered in, and listens to water splash in the lav as he marvels over the bare fact of going home. He's still alive to go home. He spent over a year expecting to die and six months feeling like he already had, like some shambling ghoul wearing his face heaved itself off Zola's table. 

And then he realized he had to still be human, because he still had a heart to lose to a stubborn skinny pro-boy who somehow brought him through it all. Bucky listens to Steve washing up and smiles at the ceiling. Of all the marvels, that he and Steve never met in Brooklyn but this war brought them together, that in nineteen days Bucky's taking Steve home.

He could have left two weeks ago. Officially, the Howling Commandoes have been commended, promoted, and scheduled for a victory tour in the winter, assuming the war in the Pacific goes as expected Unofficially, they've been dispersed to their chosen destinations, after raising a glass together one last time and exchanging some manly hugs. Dugan tried to dip Steve and got rolled over Steve's shoulder in a flip Peggy'd taught him; Steve laughed at DumDum's poleaxed face, leaned in grinning to kiss him and helped him up. Bucky grins himself at the memory, and the thought of his guys being welcomed home as the heroes they are.

Except for Steve, who deserves it just as much as any of them, who has seventeen days of duty left at the Berlin pro-station. Their old not-buddy McGath turned up running the place, and when Steve mentioned he's bunking with Bucky, that oily snake replied that since Steve wasn't residing in the dormitory _under supervision_ he was required to report in daily. 

Every morning Steve's gone in, just as ordered, and every goddamn day they've put him on shift. Bucky had a few words with McGath about that, keeping his fists at his sides as he explained exactly when Steve's tour ends, no matter what. In eighteen days Steve gets his discharge examination. In nineteen he and Bucky board a plane, cross the Atlantic, and head home. To Brooklyn, to Bucky's family, to the SSR where Phillips has secured positions for Peggy and Steve, to a life together, however it shakes out.

The water stops. Bucky thinks about how he doesn't have to play it cool anymore, like he ever could, and his smile widens. He can give Steve his smiles now. He can give Steve everything.

The bathroom door creaks shut, Steve's footsteps shuffle unevenly with his weary limp. He worked a long shift today; Bucky sat in the waiting room ninety-five minutes past closing, listening to muffled shouts and cries from the little rooms, watching man after satisfied man swagger to the door until the place finally emptied out. McGath insists Bucky accompany Steve to and from the pro-station, else he'll be _forced_ to keep Steve for a six week prophylaxis course before releasing him. There's a lot of work for Bucky to pick up in occupied Berlin, but he'd rather not push his luck that much further; besides, it's no hardship to walk with Steve to the station or anywhere, to watch his mobile face and hands as he talks, to listen to his deep earnest voice. 

Listening to his own thoughts, looking up at Steve's slump-shouldered weariness, Bucky lifts the blanket, holding out an arm. At the sight of Steve's soft grateful smile his heart jerks within him, a scarred muscle stretching. Steve folds down against his side, and Bucky wraps the blanket around his shoulders, then tucks fingers into the grooves of his ribs, feeling his slow breaths settle into evenness, his exercise-warmed skin soft and damp, his hair smooth under Bucky's cheek.

Steve takes a deeper breath and presses his mouth to Bucky's throat, the kiss unexpected, deliberate, a little shocking. 

"Steve?" Bucky stammers, his surging pulse breaking his breath into two syllables. It's not that he doesn't want Steve. He always wants Steve, he hauled himself out of clinging nightmares and back from the visceral pull of unneeded violence with wanting Steve. But now Steve lies easy against his side, except for that urgent press of lips, and more than anything else Bucky wants to just hold him as he gets his well-earned night's sleep, indulging them both that way.

Steve has other plans. He slides an exploring hand down Bucky's belly and Bucky breathes out a chuckle, closing his eyes. One good petting probably deserves another. But Steve pushes himself up on his elbow so he can reach further, pulls away from Bucky's arm and sits up, leaning over him like a tottering tree, and drags his mouth along the path his hand took, a warm brush of tender lips down Bucky's bare skin.

"Steve," Bucky mumbles again, looking down at his pale head, a sweeping wave of heat crashing into his conscience, "Steve, you don't haveta--"

Steve finally deigns to reply, picking up his head to grin. "Who said anything about _have_ to?" His eyes gleam from beneath his heavy lids, distant streetlight glinting off those long fair lashes. " 'm off the clock." He leans back in, bypassing Bucky's swelling dick to mouth a hot wet oval onto his thigh, then bites down sharply, making Bucky hiss.

Steve smiles against Bucky's skin and does it again, down and in, and Bucky spreads his legs in surrender. He gets a hand into Steve's hair just to feel damp silky strands between his fingers, closes his eyes and opens his throat and moans under each kiss Steve sucks and bites onto him. Steve clamps hard fingers over Bucky's hip and nuzzles that beaky nose between his balls, slides his soft lips around the left one and sucks gently at it, as Bucky exhales and shudders under every pulse of warm tightness. "God," he moans at length, just noise or maybe gratitude. "Oh God, goddamnit, Steve..."

Steve hums deep and Bucky shakes. He licks upwards, as if abandoning some plan in favor of direct action, and Bucky sighs breathlessly at the familiar pillowy sweetness of Steve's determined lips sliding up his cock. Up and up and Steve finally opens that hot mouth around Bucky's cockhead, and Bucky groans fervently; down and down, Steve's sweet heat engulfing him to the root, and all the tension in Bucky's body snaps like a thousand bands breaking, spilling him out limp across the bed except for one straining hardness.

Which is when Steve pulls off, leaving him cold and bereft. Bucky chokes up a "Huh?", tries twice, and gets his eyes open in time to watch Steve sit up and fold his sinewy arms across his ribs. "Whuh?"

"You look about ready," Steve says judiciously. "C'mon, up 'n at 'em." He swings a long thigh across Bucky's waist. "Fuck me."

"The fuck?" Bucky picks up his head, pushing up on his elbows as he glances down Steve's slender body. He shifts with Bucky's movement, dick bobbing laxly between his sleek thighs, and Bucky's own dick knows how snug and hot it'll be inside Steve but his heart gives a worried double-thump. "You sure? I don't --"

"Don't," Steve asks at the same time, "I get to get what I want, too?" Bucky looks up at Steve's face and finds his own hands already there curling to cradle Steve's head, as he leans in with that tiny curve of a smile, those huge shining eyes. "I want you, Buck," he murmurs, low and rough, tingling Bucky all over. "Been wanting you all shift, all day." 

"Holy shit," Bucky swears inadequately, and pulls Steve in for a kiss, but even as he opens his mouth to Steve's pushy tongue he slides one hand to Steve's nape to hold him and the other down the damp suede of his skin, over the lines and angles of all those beautiful bones, to cup his pert little ass. Steve growls and shifts his head to get Bucky's lip between his teeth, and Bucky rumbles right back as he dips two fingers between Steve's cheeks.

He's slicked up, of course. Bucky rolls his eyes beneath their lids and pushes into the kiss, but Steve just dents his trapped lip, not quite biting. Bucky squeezes his nape and checks further, finds Steve's hole puffy and open a little, maybe a fingertip's width. Instead of pressing inside he traces circles over the pucker and Steve shudders on his chest, gasping through his nose. Bucky can just picture how red it must be, swollen like a ripe berry, and he throbs with lust. He's _seen_ Steve like that a few times after taking on a couple dozen instead of just their seven, looking so sore and so sweet Bucky's mouth watered, but each time he hauled himself back, declared Steve off limits till he recovered, let him get some rest.

But now -- Bucky's fingertip dips inside Steve, easy as anything. The next follows, and he's silky hot inside, fluttering tight around Bucky's fingers as he groans deep in his chest and bites sharp sweetness into Bucky's lip. He's not sticky-slick with jizz like when Bucky's taken last turn, but clean as a whistle, clinging like damp silk, inside muscles rippling as he rumbles in frustration and worries at Bucky's lip.

Warmth billows through Bucky's chest and bubbles out of him in a laugh, and Steve scrapes his teeth off Bucky's lip to mutter against his throbbing mouth, "See? I'm fine. Fuck me."

"You're --" Bucky doesn't ask _sure_ , in this mood Steve might bite his lip off. "Nuts," he finishes, jabbing his fingers in to make his point, his own eager dick be damned. 

Steve doesn't yelp, he rumbles again, so resonant from that thin chest, as he shoves himself back onto Bucky's fingers. He crushes Bucky's next words with another hard kiss, with his murmured, "Not your fingers either, big and brave like they are. I want your dick in me. I want you."

Desire hits like a gut-punch. "Steve," Bucky surrenders, and kisses him desperately. "Slick?" Steve inhales to argue, mouthy little shit, and Bucky orders, " _More_."

"Fine." Steve twists out from under Bucky's hold, plants a hand on his chest and shoves up enough to reach under the bed, wriggling intriguingly on Bucky's fingers the whole way. He ostentatiously opens the jar like he's not affected by two fingers up his ass, but his breath's coming quick and edged, and Bucky just smiles, stretching his sore lip, tugs his fingers out and dips them in the jar.

Then he grips Steve's hip with his dry hand and bodily hauls him forward, and Steve's gasp falls like music on Bucky's ears as he opens his mouth and sucks Steve's limp cock in. "Nngh," Steve grunts, gripping Bucky's ears, as Bucky swirls grease over his tenderized flesh and laps at his soft velvety dick, savoring the taste of clean skin, of Steve.

It twitches on Bucky's tongue, but doesn't chub up, and pretty soon Steve laughs and swats his ears, trying to wiggle back. "You're not gonna distract me so easy." 

_Greedy little asshole,_ Bucky thinks fondly, opening his mouth, but doubt checks him. Sometimes he still isn't sure how to tease, what'll set off Steve's surprisingly fierce temper. Looking up through his lashes at Steve panting for it, panting for him, heavy eyelids and cheeks flushed so deeply it shows in the dimness, Bucky can't help smiling. "Climb on, then," he offers, waving his free hand as grandly as he can manage, as he tugs the slicked one away and presses it into the sheet beside Steve's leg. "You want it, you do the work."

"Lazybones." Steve's eyes flash, he digs in his knees and backs up. "I'll show you work," he says fondly, rocking his slick puffy asshole across Bucky's cockhead as Bucky grips the sheets to keep from gripping him. "I -- _ahh --_ " Steve throws his head back, bangs flying, back arching, as he slams himself down and shouts a wordless battle cry, engulfing Bucky's delighted dick in slick rippling heat.

"Fuck," Bucky swears inadequately, fervently, his disobedient hands curling onto Steve's thighs, "fuck, Steve, holy fucking shit, how ain't you tired?"

"Who said I ain't tired?" Steve puffs out, slamming his palms onto Bucky's belly, digging fingers into his sides. "But I've been thinking," as he pulls up and thumps down, thighs wiry hard under Bucky's hands as he bounces, "all day, all goddamn day, about this, about you." Bucky gasps, and watches Steve as Steve's eyes fall closed, his outthrust lower lip, the pretty flush spilling over his cheekbones, the sleek arch of his spine. "From the first one to the very last." The shivers through his thin shoulders, how his ribs rise and fall with each deep breath, the beautiful framework of his body as he moves around Bucky, fierce and earnest and determined. "Every noise they made, every hand on me, every dick inside me made me think of you there in their place." 

Dazed by pleasure, Bucky listens to this in horny astonishment. He can't get enough of Steve, and it sounds like Steve can't get enough of him either. "Fuck me," he murmurs in astonishment.

"Fuck _me_ ," Steve retorts, teeth shining, and he's glinting all over with sweat, with something more to Bucky's dazzled eyes. "Mother'a'God, all damn day," he mutters like he can't believe it either. "Got off three times just thinking about you."

Steve slaps down fiercely and clenches his teeth on a groan, shuddering and smiling and damp hair flopping over his eyes as he grips Bucky's sides till they throb and bounces even harder, as Bucky's hips roll to meet his. "All that," Bucky breathes, astonished, "after that, you still want your old Sarge?"

Steve opens his eyes, wide and shining. "Of course," he puffs, "I always want you." The words go through Bucky's heart like the sweetest spear, and Bucky just --

One hand behind Steve's shoulder blade, one elbow shoved into the mattress, and Bucky jackknifes up as Steve's mouth falls open, slams their lips together as he flips them, hilts himself in Steve's yielding body and drinks down his cry. Steve flings his arms around Bucky's neck, clawing at his shoulders, digging a heel into his back, spurring him on as his hips roll and he fucks Steve's mouth with his tongue and just buries himself in Steve as far in as he can get. Steve groans so deep Bucky can _feel _it, vibrating against his chest, around his pistoning dick; he smears his mouth off Steve's to kiss every inch of his face, Steve throws his head back in a wailing drawn-out cry. and Bucky pulses hard, deep inside, through his belly and his balls. There he goes, flickering through his head as he comes with his mouth on Steve's throat, his forehead pressed to Steve's cheek, his heart overflowing.__

__"Steve," Bucky sobs against Steve's bobbing adam's apple, as Steve gasps beneath him, around him. "Steve," like truth, like a prayer. "Steve."_ _

__"Buck," Steve moans, "Bucky," and coughs, which makes Bucky heave his still-shuddering carcass off Steve. He flops over on his back, one arm off the bed, and Steve rolls to him, coughing a few more times, then faceplanting in his chest. Before Bucky can even manage to ask after him Steve gasps, "This," his voice raspy with breathlessness, "this's what I wanted." Bucky nods, his heart swollen into his throat, as he drags up his dangling arm and curls his hand behind Steve's shoulder blade. "Whole night," Steve mutters onwards, speaking into Bucky's skin, bypassing his ears straight into his heart. "Busy fucking shift, and all I wanted was you. I don't even know what you've done to me, Sarge. I don't fucking know."_ _

__It's not often Steve tries to bullshit him, and Bucky takes profound delight in not standing for it. "You know damn well, Rogers," he murmurs into Steve's silky damp hair, and feels Steve's hitching breath echo in his own heart's skipped beat. "You know because you done it to me right back."_ _

__Steve shivers, and grins, and kisses beside Bucky's left nipple. Then he pushes his head back, and Bucky curls just enough to look down into his crinkle-cornered eyes, to see how his cheek curves with his smile. "What'cha looking at?" Steve slurs a whisper._ _

__Bucky breathes, and lets himself just say, "You." Steve blinks big bottomless eyes at him, then grips a handful of his hair and hauls him down for a rough kiss._ _

__He yawns into it, so Bucky pulls away, and for a moment Steve looks contrite, like he might apologize for being tired, like he used to back at the start. But instead he smiles again, and lays his head on Bucky's shoulder, going deliberately limp. Trusting himself to Bucky._ _

__Bucky could kiss Steve for it a few thousand more times, if he weren't so tired. but they both are. Instead, holding Steve carefully with one arm, he sits up just enough to grab the blanket, slumps flat again and wraps it and both arms around Steve's back as he smiles against Steve's forehead. He could say a thousand things, but he just lies there, drifting with Steve wrapped around him and his arms wrapped around Steve, so close he can feel Steve's body almost as well as his own, and they don't even need any more words._ _

**Author's Note:**

> It seemed appropriate to post this on Labor Day. ;)


End file.
